Over
by Delysia
Summary: Sam knows the fallout is coming. He know it's over. "How long can we keep doing this?" Not long enough. Not forever and anything less than that is simply not long enough.
1. Part One: The Beginning

**Over**

_Set during 4x10 The Cost Of Doing Business, contains heavy SPOILERS for the episode. If you have yet to see it (in which case you need to PM me so I can pass you on to a Youtube page) proceed at your own risk._

_A/N: This is my very first Flashpoint fanfic and I am a bit overwhelmed about putting this out there when there are so many extremely talented Flashpoint writers. Seriously this fandom is blessed with some of the best writers I have ever read. Major hugs, props, snaps, and much love to Syuuri, who practically handheld me through the whole process; this story is dedicated to her. Anyway let me know your thoughts, what works, what doesn't. Thank you for reading. ~Delysia_

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><p><strong>Part One: Beginning<strong>

The word eggs hangs in the air, the invitation to take Jules to an out of the way diner he found dying before it passes from his lips.

She isn't even looking at him. She doesn't even close her eyes and take a breath, a habit Sam knows from when she is trying to hold it all in, a sign that he has crossed a line, annoyed her when she is too tired or painted her door jam with uneven brush strokes or failed to resist the urge to brush his hand against hers as they ride the elevator up to headquarters. Instead her brown eyes are glued to Greg, and he can tell she is reading him, pleading without words.

It's over.

He makes his way down the remaining stairs with legs that feel like lead, his knees resisting the movement, a little slow to bend and he wonders why he didn't wait until she came up stairs, why he didn't recognize the sound of Sarge's voice. Jules was right, he had been getting sloppy, happiness does that to a person.

Not that it matters now. It's all over.

He perches on the bottom step and his sniper trained hands make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, the one Jules had bought. She had it waiting at his apartment last week. She told him she had been shopping and saw it, something about the color reminding her of him. At the time it had made him grin, teasing her about thinking about him with a leer on his face as he watched a subtle blush appear on hers. Now he wonders if he will even be able to look at it again and not feel a sick sour feeling in his stomach. He reckons he should burn it. He makes a mental list of what, if anything, he needs to take with him when Jules inevitably tosses him out and he can't think of a thing, nothing he needs anyway, nothing he can take. He thinks about the taking the flowers on her counter just out of spite, he had bought them last night. They will probably last another few days at least, which is more than he can claim for him and Jules.

Sarge is pacing and licking his lips, never a good sign. Sam knows that body language, their fearless leader is feeling cornered, no solution in sight. Sam sighs, welcome to his world.

Jules moves closer to him, leaning against the post of the stairs, but its not close enough; just making space for Greg to move. Sam refuses to let himself over analyze her, he doesn't try to profile her, he's been burned by that before. Figuring Julianna Callaghan out would take a lifetime, he figures he will be lucky if he gets the rest of the morning.

They really didn't get enough time.

He tries anyhow, because honestly he has nothing to loose. It doesn't matter how this plays out, if she stands by him or not. If she looses her job, her team, her family, because of them, because she chose him, that's it. She will never move past it. They will never be the same people who spent last night laying in her bed arguing over the remote. He wishes he had just let her watch whatever stupid DIY show she had wanted.

"Have you seen our performance slip? Has there been one moment-"

Greg rounds on him, cutting him off. "It takes one moment. This whole team is still on probation..."

The rest of the words fizzle out against Sam's ears, white noise amidst the destruction of his life. It was a lie anyway. He had meant to say her, have you seen _her_ performance slip, but he doubted Jules would have appreciated his singling her out, no final romantic gesture even. He doubts there will even be coffee this time.

His performance at work, it probably hadn't slipped, he couldn't let it when her life was always on the line but it would be a lie to claim that she doesn't affect him. She is his everything.

Was, was his everything. He is going to get used to that. Get used to seeing his shower with out her shampoo, his couch without her throw, and he will need to remember to set his alarm in the morning, no blender whirling to wake him up.

He resists the urge to run a hand through his hair. He should have stayed in bed, maybe then this wouldn't be happening. He should have taken her up on the smoothie she had offered earlier. Now he will never get another one.

He wishes he could go back, just be on a team with her, be near her; even after she dumped him, even when name Steve made him want to break something. At least then she was close. They are going to be separated now, different teams, if they are allowed to stay on at SRU at all. It's not looking good. If they are made to leave SRU she really will be gone. He isn't delusional to think their relationship can withstand it, it can't even withstand this.

The aftermath is going to be brutal. How will he make it through a week without seeing her, without hearing about her latest home improvement project, watching her brush her bangs out of her face when she is irritated; how will he get through the day without knowing that she is okay? The thought makes him nauseous, a life without Jules.

Greg and Jules are discussing the Priority of Life Code, if what they are doing can be called a discussion, more like two desperate people fighting for a way out of this mess and all Sam can do is just sit and listen, shut up and take it like a good little solider.

The General is going to love this, first JTF2 and now SRU; Christmas is going to be a special type of hell this year. He'd been planning on tagging along with Jules to The Hat and skipping the yearly Braddock interrogation altogether, so much for that.

Jules is insisting that they put others ahead of each other, that they will follow the code and another time it would make him smile, watching her go toe to toe with Sarge, defending _them. _He almost does, the corner of his lip turn up before she is looking at him; it's the first time since he came down those stupid stairs and blew their world apart. She wants him to chime in and agree, to help fix this mess. It reminds Sam of a porcelain figurine his mom had growing up; he and Natalie accidentally broke it and no amount of glue ever made it whole again. Jules' eyes plead for the impossible and Sam wants to, he wants to keep Jules, the job too, but he just sits silently. First rule of negotiation- never lie. They don't have enough glue to fix this mess.

She is crazy if she thinks for one second he would put anyone's life ahead of hers. Screw the code, what does Dr. Toth know about any of it?

Sam had stood at his best friend's funeral, stood at his little sister's funeral and knew, just knew that it was his fault. Another choice and they would still be here. What does Dr. Toth know about that? About responsibility and grief and loss so powerful that it makes you burn? He doesn't know a thing, not a damn thing.

He doesn't know Jules.

Dr. Toth hadn't been on that roof, hadn't watched that armor piercing bullet rip through her, hadn't seen her fall back, her body hitting the ground was a muffled thud. He didn't see her at the hospital, machines beeping, tubes crossing her body, too weak to even open her eyes. Where was the good doctor when Jules had taken her first steps afterward, her face contorting in pain as she struggled to shuffle her slippers along the linoleum? He hadn't seen her struggle to dress herself, heard the hiss of pain every time she shifted, watched her fight tooth and nail to come back to the team. He knew shit about Jules. There are some things you can't get from reading a transcript.

So to hell with the Dr. Toth and the code.

He has tried, tried to keep it purely professional when they were out on a call. He had been trained by the best to lock it all away, compartmentalize and focus on the job at hand. He clamped down on the bubbling fear whenever she was too close to the danger. He didn't have a choice, it's not like Jules would ever take a desk job, she would have hurt him for even thinking about it. There was no choice. He has to be on his game 100 percent of the time, has to be professional, has to be perfect, if not...

It doesn't matter now. It's over and, if by some miracle, she is allowed to stay on at SRU, he will never be on the same team. He will never be close enough to save her, to protect her, to make up for the time when he hadn't been able to; he won't be able to do penance for the scar that marks her left side. It will just be there forever, someone else he failed.

"Do you know what the worst part is? I knew."

That catches his attention; Sarge knew. He is looking at Sam as he speaks, too directly, like he doesn't want to implicate Jules. It screams guilt.

That can't be right, she's perfect. Sam can't think of a call when she hadn't blown him away. She's a brick wall, focused and unyielding. She kept to the code, she would always keep to the code. When did she ever... oh, a ghost of a memory washes over him.

"_Braddock, you are suppose to leave the bombs for the demolition guys."_ It wouldn't have mattered so much if her words hadn't been so rushed, if she hadn't had that quiver of fear in her voice that team rarely heard. Is that when Sarge knew?

That couldn't be it. It wouldn't be fair.

That was the moment when it had sunk in, her fear laden voice coming over the comm link, she felt it too. He should have realized it earlier, back when she was standing in his apartment after a double drop that had left her ankle slightly swollen and instead of going home to ice it and huddle under her million blankets with another home improvement show, she had chosen to be with him. He hadn't trusted himself to really believe it back then but when her voice came out, shaken and worried, it finally dawned on him. She chose him.

He doesn't let himself hope she still will, he's just destroyed years of her blood, sweat, and tears. It's unforgivable. He can't believe he let her risk everything for him, a better person wouldn't have; someone a little less head over heels would have had the foresight to stop her when she showed up, sweet sweater and a dress that reminded him of spring.

He stifles a groan. He knows Sarge might go down with them for this. He feels bad but not as bad as he should. If he had it to do over again he would still pick Jules. He would always pick Jules.

He is waiting for the hammer to come, he just needs this over with. He can't keep sitting so close to her and not reach for her, he can't wait any longer for his world to crumble around him. Just say it, whatever it is, just say it. But Sarge's phone rings instead, its screen lighting up, then Jules' goes off, vibrating against the counter, then his.

Some might say saved by the bell, but not him, it's just a stay of execution. Greg doesn't have to tell him. Sam knows this isn't over.

To Be Continued...

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><p><em>Feedback is love.<em>


	2. Part Two: Now What?

**Over**

_A/N: Major Spoilers for 4x10 The Cost of Doing Business._

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><p><strong>Part Two: Now What?<strong>

It's over.

Suspect in custody and a clean take-down, a pat on the back before his world goes down in flames. He doesn't know exactly what is coming but he knows he is going to hate it, he is going to hate Greg and Jules and who ever nominated her for that stupid award before the day is out.

He wonders if this time they can do it at a bar, coffee just isn't going to cut it. She will leave and he will get shitfaced and Sarge can pick him up, he figures he owes him that much. Couldn't he have just waited until tomorrow to let Jules know? Done it in front of the team where they could have razzed her and teased her and been so proud they could burst; it would have been better than a double-double home delivery.

Maybe Boss was worried about jealousy, they were all a little competitive. He figures Ed is due for the honor but he has been slipping, maybe it's the downside of having a new baby in the house, all those sleepless nights.

Sam wishes he had a fussy infant to go home to; one with his eyes and her perfect nose and puffs of her chocolate hair. They never really had a chance to discuss children.

Now they never will.

His shoulders slump and somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear the General drilling it in from the age of seven, "Real men do not cower and sulk, real men stand tall." Screw that. He is going to sulk and wallow and drink until he can't see straight and this all becomes numbing blackness. The General has no idea how much this all hurts, something else to add to the museum of scars covering his heart.

Another one gone.

It's almost like he is a jinx, a curse, a cautionary tale- don't get too close to Samuel Braddock he will ruin your life and destroy your career, that is if he doesn't get you killed first.

She moves into step beside him, her legs stretching to match his longer strides, and he wishes she wouldn't. She needs to stay away from him, he just demolished her life. The foot of space separating them isn't enough, the wreckage hasn't settled yet.

"That was a good take-down."

He knows it's her way of comforting him, something ripping deep inside him at her words. His hand flexes uselessly at his side, resisting the temptation to take her slender one and laces his fingers with hers.

He won't make this worse for her.

It's too late to make it right, to stop them before they became a _them_. He probably wouldn't if he could. His list of regrets doesn't go that deep- that he walked a little slower with Sarah that day, that he hadn't been such a good shot, that he hadn't taken the shield with him, and now- that he had just stayed upstairs, but he can't picture a day when he will ever regret being with her, regret _them_.

He doubts Jules feels the same.

"Good talk." It might be the last compliment he is allowed to pay her and it's stupid. Not important. Nothing about how he could get lost forever in her doe eyes, how he loves to listen to the sound of her voice wafting from the shower, how she is the first thing on his mind when he wakes up- not work, not his best friend, not his little sister, but her and how that gave him a reason to keep going.

Just 'good talk", like Jules would ever be less than 100 percent focused. He doesn't doubt that she would keep to the code, he is the question mark.

Jules is damn good at her job, she is killer shot, great negotiator, and has a real ability to read people, profiling they called it but the ways Jules does it it's more like connection. He does not have that gift, he is still struggling to understand what he wants, how can he know what anyone else does?

He wants her and look where that gotten them.

Sam is not going to take her down with him if he can help it at all. He doesn't care that it was her who showed up at his apartment all those months ago, he wanted her, craved her from the moment he saw her, his own personal sexy sniper chick.

Maybe if that was all it was they would have been okay, some mutually shared attraction and a no strings relationship- it could have worked.

Then he messed it up and fell for her.

The first time he had been in love he was fifteen and he broke up with her because she wouldn't stop nagging and just let him play his video games. His buddies fully agreed with his decision and he barely regretted it under the light of their approval.

The next time love walloped him, he sat in a coffee shop and heard that she loved him and was leaving him in the same breath and no one even knew, well almost no one. It wasn't something he could talk about in the locker room. It was Jules.

There is going to be no support this time, just judgment. They risked the team's future and if Sam could he would give up every video game he ever owned for just five more minutes of being Sam & Jules.

He is pretty sure his high school buddies wouldn't approve.

"_Would you have continued the relationship secretly if you could?" _

"_Yes."_

Sam thinks he made a mistake, not in telling Toth the truth but in that coffee shop all those years ago. He had been thinking about it, thinking about giving up the job for her but then his stupid pride got in the way. He wouldn't have let her give up the team, her family, for him but if she had just considered it, just met him part way, not said that she loved him as part of a breakup speech, he would have left. He could be the rookie on some other team but he wasn't willing to take that step if she wasn't in the same place he was, that well rehearsed speech about being shot not holding her back told him she wasn't.

In another world they could be married by now, and he wouldn't be contemplating checking into a hotel room for awhile. He just doesn't think he can go home and see her shampoo in the shower, the blender she bought in the kitchen, her necklace on his dresser. He might need to find work somewhere else, in a city where he won't want to premeditate them accidentally running into each other, or feel the need to drive by her place just to check in the middle of the night.

The rub is, once her things are returned and he leaves, he won't have any piece of her left. It will be like they never happened.

He probably should have taken Nat up when she offered to take their picture last week. They were being dangerous, heading out for a restaurant on the outskirts of the city, nothing special but Jules had dressed up, taking over his bathroom for the better part of an hour before emerging- hair curled and a red dress that made his heart drum loudly in his ears. They looked like an honest to goodness couple and Natalie had cooed over them and grabbed her camera, demanding they smile. He had taken the camera from her and lectured her again about how this could all blow up; they didn't need incriminating evidence like a photo to fall into the wrong hands.

It had blown up anyway, because he was too hungry to think before coming downstairs.

He still doesn't have a picture of them.

He tries not to notice how the wind keeps whipping her hair across her face, the strands escaping from her ponytail. Another time, another place he would have brushed them away.

But not today, never again probably. The thought makes something ache.

"What are we going to do?"

He's ridiculously grateful for those two letters, _we_. There is still a we. He doubts it will outlast the afternoon but for the moment they are still a we, still a team, still Sam & Jules.

He wants to cling to it and never let go.

If he up and quits what would happen? Sam can't imagine it could get any worse. If Sarge just let her stay on, they might still have a shot. He would worry himself sick over her but it's better than the alternative; anything's better than that.

There would be questions, Toth would demand a reason, probably bring out that goddamn lie-detector again. He might not have to submit to testing but Jules would and Greg. Jules could possibly hold her own, maybe.

Sam had a first row seat after the shooting when thing slowly came to the surface, pieces of who she was without the job- panda slippers, unnatural adoration for chocolate pudding, brothers that called constantly but never came, a father who smelled of whiskey at 10 am, and a scar on her left wrist that she rubbed when she was afraid. He heard how she used to be in band, played guitar, was a bit of a trouble maker back in her wilder days and yet once she breezed back through the doors at SRU that was all gone- she was a clean slate with no history, no past outside of headquarters and the cool pants. She knew how to control her responses, she wasn't him- she might be okay.

Sarge on the other hand... speak of the devil. Sam wants to walk away. He doesn't want to hear whatever Sarge has to say, but he doesn't move. Too many years of training ingrained in him for him to just walk away when a commanding officer approaches- forever a good little solider.

Greg talks in a rush as if he doesn't want Sam to answer Jules, like Sam has any answers. "That's good work today, and again what I would expect from the law enforcement professional of the year."

Sam swears he can actually feel his heart stop for a moment, his breath catching. He tries not to let it get to him, tries to keep it all in check, but it's there- _hope_, a dangerous emotion given their past. "What happens now, Boss?"

It's frightening how much of his world hangs on the Sarge's answer, a bomb might do less damage.

"We go home, come back to work again tomorrow."

The air whooshes from Sam's lungs, coming out in a soft sigh. Despite the relief his stomach rolls. Now what?

Jules is speaking but he can't quiet make out her words over the blood rushing to his ears, now what? It's over- the hiding, the fear? Sarge knows and is going to let them stay on Team One, stay together? For how long?

"I have faith."

Sam knows he should be appreciative but all he can think is faith in what? That they will keep it professional? He has already admitted to both Toth and Greg that he can't keep that promise. Is Sarge assuming that Jules and him will end somewhere down the line, come to their own conclusion about the impossibility their relationship poses? Because that is not happening.

He is not letting her go again.

Sam should be grateful, should be relieved. It's over.

Just one question remains- what now?

_To Be Continued..._

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><p><em>AN: I want to thank so many people for their support of this fic. The reviews, the alerts... it really make a writer feel good. This was originally where I was going to end this fic but I think I am going to add a few more parts- moments that happen off camera because I just would have loved to be a fly on the wall when they left SRU that day. I try really hard to keep things in canon but since the show is on-going whatever I add from this point on maybe considered AU._

_As always-** Reviews are love.** They are so much more powerful than people realize. They motivate, give validation, brighten someone's day, help them improve. Basically reviews are the best thing ever after shirtless Sam._

_~Delysia_


	3. Part Three: Seize

_A/N: Think of this as a missing scene, something cut for time set at the end of 4x10 The Cost of Business. I am really working to keep this within canon. Also I apologize if there are any typos or glaring mistakes (though SYuuri was kind enough to help me from making a big error). I was in a car accident about a week ago and I am on very strong painkillers. Remember to buckle up, it totally saved my life. Also to all those amazing people that reviewed this or Jules Day or alerted or favorited I am so, so grateful. That support means so, so much. ~Delysia_

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><p><strong>Over<strong>

****_Set at the end of 4x10 The Cost of Business_

**Part Three: Seize**

Sam needs to go home.

He hurries, taking his shower in the four minute window that use to assure some semblance of hot water when he was in JTF2. Quick, hot, soap and scrub and then rinse it all away, letting the memories of the day fall down the drain. Then it's civilian clothes and boots that stay laced. He lingers as he ties them, Spike is telling a joke that he forces himself to laugh at. Sam is not even sure if it has a punchline. He sits on the bench, another minute, maybe two, and then he can go home. He needs to be quick but not suspiciously so.

He is running, practically hiding out. He was never the type of guy to hide, even as a child he didn't avoid his sisters as much as yell at them to stay out of his room. But here he is, a grown man, and all he wants to do is get out of here before Jules has time to finish her shower.

It's stupid but honestly he just isn't up for the talk tonight. It was supposed to be their day off. He was going to take Jules to breakfast and tease her about how she puts strawberry jelly on her sausage. It was going to be a good day.

So much for that.

He knows her, she is going to want to discuss this. She is going to dissect Greg's words, the nuances of his speech, analyze what the tilt of their boss' head means for them and him and Sam just can't. He has never been good at profiling and he isn't going to practice on Sarge because he knows where it will lead.

_How long can we keep doing this?_

Not long enough. Not forever and anything less than that is simply not long enough.

They are treading water. That's all they are doing. Not really moving forward, not really moving back. Simply keeping their heads above the water. He knows it's dumb, dangerous even. Sam knows he should force an action, make an ultimatum and save them both the heartache this will surely cause.

But he can't.

Not when she looks at him with those big doe eyes and his heart thunders in his chest. It's more than a little frightening how much she means to him. He is pretty sure that having your world wrapped up in one person is just plain stupid, too much resting on her. Still, he doesn't have a choice. He thinks of her as his and feels breathless with awe. He sees her and he feels happy. Really happy. That sort of happiness that starts in his toes and he can't stop smiling. It's cheesy and corny and he can't help it. He loves her; is in love with her. And for this moment she is his.

Maybe the pain he know he will face later is small penance for being with her now. _Carpe Diem_, isn't that what they always say? All he wants is to hold her a little bit longer, breath in the strawberry scent of her shampoo and just be grateful that this didn't end today. That they still have their jobs. They still have each other. Worry about the rest later. Deal with it when it comes tumbling down.

But somehow he can't picture Jules just letting it be. She needs answers. He thinks thinks this is probably the only time Jules didn't really have a plan. She always has an outline for everything, how it is going to work, where she is heading. Except for them. It's the blind leading the blind really. It's that leap of faith that makes it different, better, stronger than last time. They can make it through this, they just need some time.

So tonight he just needs to go home, alone. Get out of headquarters without her suggesting coffee. Give them some space, just a break so there are no hasty decisions. Those have never ended well for Sam and he feels like they are barreling towards another one.

Twenty more seconds.

Spike's hair is still wet from his shower. Chances are good that Jules will have just started hers. At HQ she is faster than when she uses all the hot water at his apartment but still she takes longer than the guys. She doesn't sing here either, something that almost makes up for the fact that Sam often has to take a nearly glacier shower after she is done, her sweet voice wafting from the steam filled room.

Ten seconds.

He should be fine, now to just casually walk out and hope she doesn't show up later demanding answers. He doesn't have any to give her. He just wants to keep her. Is that really too much to ask?

"Hey guys, I'm out." He closes his locker and the metal rings out. Only six paces to the locker room door and twelve to the elevator and then he can go home and pretend this day never happened.

"Where you running off to, Sam?" Ed calls out. Sam still has fifteen more steps to go.

Damn it. If there is anyone Sam know he should be careful with it's Ed. Sarge might have faith but he doubts Ed would feel the same, probably out them to Dr. Toth himself.

As much as they are a family he knows Ed thinks of them as a team first. Sam is pretty sure given his way that he would have kept Donna. Let Jules be relegated to Team Three or a desk job or take her package early. He wants them to be an effective machine. It makes sense. Ed has his own family. He didn't exactly cut Wordy any slack and they were best friends, brothers. Sam can't imagine how he would react to finding out about him and Jules

"Got plans." Simple lies are always the best, passive movements. This is how he got by behind enemy lines. This is how he gets out when he needs to.

"Cancel them." Ed commands. Sam sighs, sending him a pained look. "Hey, I don't care. You can see whatever gorgeous skirt you are chasing tomorrow night. This is important. Cancel them."

Sam nods. Greg is watching him over Ed's shoulder, an admonishing gaze telling him not to push. Sam knows he can't say no, not to Ed. Did that once and had to give away too much information in the process. Can't make that mistake again.

He sits on the bench, listening as Ed yells at Spike to hurry up. What's the rush, he doesn't know. He can't imagine how going to The Goose is needed tonight. It was a good day, no lethal action required, no one shot. It was a clean take down. They only go out when it's not, when its hard and messy and they need to band together to get through it all.

Today was a good day. Would have been better if he had gotten to take Jules to breakfast, if he has just stayed up stairs. His mom's voice echos in his head, 'no use crying over spilled milk'.

"Come on, Scarlatti!" Ed's voice booms.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Spike is hastily dressing, pulling a shirt over his head as he speaks. "We are making her buy right?"

"Is that all you can think about?" Greg asks, humor in his voice.

Sam stomach clinches, of course. Of course, they know. He wonders when Sarge told them, maybe before the double-double home delivery. He can't think of when he could have told them after. Of course, it's important they go out. It's for Jules, not everyday a member of the team get Law Enforcement Professional of the Year. So much for avoiding and laying low, for thinking she would somehow be more successful at dodging the invitation.

Sam keeps his face passive but he wants to groan. He does not need this. Does not need her to be reminded again how much she loves the job, loves her team. She does not need another reason to see that this thing with them is just not worth it. That he is the one thing that could blow her world apart.

"Hey, I still think she is getting off easy. This seems like a hazing opportunity. Pull a few pranks, maybe hit her with a little cream cheese, make sure she isn't getting too big for her britches."

"I wouldn't if I were you, Spikey." Ed warns but there is a playful tone to his voice. He is practically goading Spike to do something dumb and have Jules kick his ass for the attempt. And Sam knows she would.

"She doesn't scare me." And despite the tension in his stomach, Sam find himself chuckling at Spike's false bravado. He is a trained solider and Jules scares the crap out of him, Spike doesn't stand a chance.

"That's because you weren't on the team when Rolie tried it. Guy didn't walk the same for a month."

A familiar voice speaks, causing the team to look to the door. "I'd say a year."

"Officer Wordsworth," Ed greets. "Glad to see you showed."

"Wouldn't miss it. Can't let her forget the little people."

It's odd and yet not, seeing Wordy again. Out in the field, out on a call, it felt like old times. Standing in the locker room it just reminds Sam how easily they have drifted apart. He hasn't even seen Wordy since he joined Gangs and Guns, that was weeks ago, their little family is more fragile than they seem to realize. Sam wonders if Ed and Wordy still do monthly cookouts together, if they are still best friends. They are discussing Wordy's boss at G&G, so he doubts it. No wonder Jules is so protective, a bad wind could scatter them apart.

"So where is she? Still taking too long in the shower?" Wordy asks, and Sam notices that he instinctively moves to stand by the locker that was once his. It's makes Sam want to hit something, this whole day does.

Raf replies and it's unsettling him interacting with Wordy, like two pieces that don't even belong to the same puzzle. It reminds Sam of the comic books he used to read, the ones where if two people were in the same place it could rip the space-time continual apart. "I think she has it out for team two, wants to waste all the hot water. Dylan called her a babe the other day; asked how team two could get someone that hot to look at during workouts."

What? When did this happen? Why didn't he know this? Sam is personally going to kick his ass the next time he sees that batman reject. He is already brainstorming ways to make him hurt, rookies should not be so forward. There is a gnat in his ear, reminding of him calling her a sexy sniper chick but Sam ignores it. Dylan needs to learn respect, for team one, for a senior officer, and to start averting his eyes whenever Jules is within fifteen feet of him. Punk ass kid.

"Sam?" Greg's voice echoes, bringing Sam out of his daydream, a mental repeat of ripping off Dylan's head playing over and over in his mind like his old Mortal Kombat game, the team gone and Sarge holding the door open. "You coming?"

He nods and makes his way out with long strides, only to stop short. The guys clutter the small space between the locker room and the desk and Ed is standing by the elevator with his arms crossed over his chest, a silent dare for anyone to attempt to move pass him. Is this a celebration or an ambush? Probably both, Sam muses. Not like Jules is exactly the best at handling compliments. Sure, she can talk a good game about herself, but when someone else does it she can't handle it. She drops her head, her ears tinging pink and then she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. It's sexy as all hell and Sam has exploited the heck out of it, whispering sweet nothings in her ear to watch her too-cute-for-words reaction.

He hopes he gets the chance to do it again. He's not going to say his isn't worried about them, he is. He is terrified.

"Guys." Jules nearly plows into Sam as she tries to exit and it takes all his willpower not to reach for her.

She is in pink which he loves. She straddles the line between being a kickass SRU officer, unflattering cool pants and cap, and still feminine. Sam just loves how she transforms. One moment she is calmly taking a sierra shot and then she comes out, hair curled and hands lotioned and is so stunning he can barely believe she is his. A perfect blend of soft and strong. The pink in question is a fitted tee and Sam can't help but notice that it looks amazing on her, everything looks amazing on her. Her hair is down, soft and natural with bangs that barely brush her eyebrows. God, she is beautiful.

He really doesn't deserve her. Karma must not have gotten around to him yet.

"Wordy." It's a greeting as she moves through the throng of them blocking her exit. "What's going on, guys?" She is eying them and their self satisfied smiles before turning to Sam who offers her an exaggerated shrug. He isn't sure if he is even suppose to know or not. He needs to play this safe. Feign ignorance.

"Something you would like share with the group?" That is Ed, his crossed arms send off invisible warnings like a flashing danger light above his hairless head.

Jules' eyes shift slightly and Sam can see her trying to puzzle them out. "Not that I can think of..."

"That's not what Sarge said."

Oh no. Sam watches as she swallows the smile she wore a moment ago. She is already jumping to the worse case scenario and Sam think that maybe they are more alike than he thought. Two peas in a paranoid pod.

"Yeah?" Her voice is a breath too high, her eyes moving a beat too quickly. She is better than this, Sam knows she can lock it away better than this. The stress must really be getting to her.

"Don't think she wants us to tell us," Wordy offers, his hands in his front pockets. Sam doesn't remember that from before, maybe it's a way to hide the symptoms, to make them less real. Wordy is a statue, stone stable and ridiculously reliable. It's just not fair, not even close. He should be here, not stuck at Guns and Gangs because of a tremor. It sucks.

"Probably wants to get out of buying." Spike's fingers are constantly moving, practically drumming out a beat on Winnie's desk. He is a child hyped up on too many Pixie Stixs, means well but can get a little carried away. The mischievous younger brother Sam never had; he requested one but his mom only brought him sisters.

Raf offers a smile, warm and genuine. "Shouldn't we be buying for her?" Now that is the brother Sam would have picked, calm under pressure, quiet, respectful. It's probably too late to trade in Natalie.

The out crying of four voices simultaneously trying to explain that is not how they do things drown out any real meaning. The SRU has it's own traditions, customs passed down from vet to rookie. You buy when you are shot, get a promotion, or retire. The team buys for you after your first lethal. The rest of the time it is every man for themselves. Sam figures Raf will learn them in time, traditions bypass common sense.

The moment of chaos is all it takes for Jules to piece it all together, Sam taking in the way her shoulders relax as it clicks together. She is watching the Boss when it happens and Greg's wearing a smile that seems to droop at the corners, something painted on. He is supposed to be proud of her. Sam doesn't know if he is anymore.

He should be. Jules is amazing. The rest, the stuff with them- it shouldn't negate that. Sam knows it kind of does anyway. So much for the substitute paternal figure. Maybe that's what made it worse, made Sarge yell at them like children who had been naughty. He had wanted to turn a blind eye, to just let them be, to let her be happy. Sam is pretty sure Sarge wouldn't put his neck on the line if it was just him.

She is the favorite daughter by default. Maybe that's why he is keeping their secret, keeping the faith. Maybe it's their common yet vastly separate history. Sarge's past with the bottle, Jules' own dad is 12 steps behind him with a steady case of denial next to his six pack. Maybe that's why. Maybe... Maybe he should leave the profiling to Jules.

_Carpe Diem_, wasn't that going to be his new motto?

Actually wasn't it just to hide out tonight and seize tomorrow instead? He can't remember, the day is starting to drag, the edges becoming fuzzy and blurred. He still sort of wants eggs.

Then Jules is speaking, teasing the guys about her promotion, offering them lessons for a fee. Maybe they need to get down to the range a little more often, get out of the truck an actually negotiate. And somewhere along the way between the back and forth banter her smile becomes real.

That scares him.

Happiness is hard to compete with when all he can offer her is an uncertain future and an apartment that his sister his practically claimed squatters rights on.

They tuck themselves into the elevator as Jules rags them about probably needing to take the stairs so they can catch up to her. She is best under self directed praise, they cut her down and she builds herself up. It says a lot about her childhood.

"It's good to see she isn't letting it go to her head." Sam can't resist, she hates to be ignored. "Hey Spike, I want in."

"What are you guys planning?" Her eyes narrow, lethal under her bangs but she is looking at him, for a moment that is everything.

"Planning? Nothing..." He is all smiles and big blue 'who me?' eyes. The innocent face worked for years on his mom, still does from time to time.

"Yeah, nothing," Spike echos, a grin on his lips as he keeps his eyes trained to the numbers illuminating their descent.

The doors open with a chime and they make their way outside, Spike's voice shouting "shotgun' as he and Raf head to pile into Wordy's minivan.

Jules' steps slow and Sam instinctively matches her pattern. Her voice is low and soft. "Coming over later, right?"

He almost flinches at her words. It's the last thing he was expecting, thing he was hoping most for. Being prepared does not lead one to hope too hard, not with her, not after last time. He wants to ask her to repeat herself, maybe tease her about needing a night off, joke about not wanting to wake up constantly to the high speed whir of her blender, anything that will show that they are okay but then she is gone. A flash of pink and brown and she is forcing Spike out of his chosen seat and bullying him into the back.

A chuckle of escaped tension bubbles from Sam's lips as he watches the scene with a smile before doing a quick jog to secure himself a ride. He is not sure where this is going, doesn't even know how tonight is going to play out but for now he is happy and she is smiling and that's all that matters.

_Carpe Diem_ indeed.

_To Be Continued..._

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><p><em>AN: So... this is my first venture into a Team moment. I would love some idea of how I did, even if something is off. Feel free to tell me. **Reviews are love.** ~Delysia_


	4. Part Four: Challenge Accepted

_A/N: Yes, it's back! Apologies for the delay at the end. Set directly after Part Three. Enjoy! _

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><p><strong>Part Four: Challenge Accepted<strong>

"That's all your having, Jules? Can't run with the big dogs?"

He hates Ed. Okay maybe he doesn't hate him but Sam is not pulling any punches the next time they spar. Fists ball uselessly at his sides as the gauntlet is thrown down.

She is a light weight. Ed knows that. Everyone knows that. She gets one beer and she sits nursing it so long that she almost always leaves a third of it in the bottle by the time they leave. She might as well just start ordering a virgin Cuba Libre with Sarge or water like Wordy. But lay a challenge in front of her and she can't back down. Won't.

Ed knows that. Everyone knows that.

Jules Callaghan- super woman. Can't back down, can't admit defeat, can't ask for help. Lord knows she can't need anyone. Sam knows that song by heart. Could sing a few notes to Ed since he has obviously forgotten the chorus.

It's not fair, it's really not. It's exploiting her one weakness, it's like picking on the chubby kid. You just don't do it. Sure, they play around at HQ. Place the bait out there and wait for her to bite. Races from the roof, challenges at the range, and timed events in the gun cage but this is different.

She is a goddamn light weight and Ed fucking knows it.

"Is that a challenge?"

No, just no. Tell her it's not. It's just a joke. Ed practically has a hundred pounds on her. On a mat she could still probably take him; she took down Raf last week during sparring. Sam got to hear him complain about his back for two days. She could take Ed. Just not in a bar.

"You think you're up for it?"

It finally dawns on Sam how much it must rankle Ed that she got selected over him. He is probably overdue, years of exemplary service and yet it's Jules who gets a gala in her honor.

"I'm game if you are." Of course she is. Never met a challenge she could walk away from.

Well, almost never. Turn out their relationship while re-earning a spot on the team was the one challenge too great to tackle.

Sam shakes his head. If he starts thinking about the coffee shop he isn't going to be able to keep sitting here. He needs to be here. Not for Sarge, not for appearances, but because she needs someone that has her back. Just because she never calls for backup, doesn't means she doesn't need it.

Sam tries to ignore the first one. Suggests she slows down on the second one. Maybe stop to eat something on her third. Something with bread to soak up all that Blue Moon and orange slices sloshing in her stomach. It's clear that his words are falling on deaf ears. Not that he can blame her. It's been a hell of a day and she has no earthly reason to listen to him. None at all.

Still he stays on guard. His own beer sits neglected, instead focusing on how her words seems to slow and how she seems to be peeling at the corners. Protecting her is akin to breathing, instinctual. In and out with every breath. He will not fail her, not again. Never again.

She is determined to match Ed drink for drink and while they avoid the hard stuff it is pretty clear that she woefully out of her depth. They are throwing out questions at them, drop rates, shots in a clip, procedures. SRU always likes their games.

"Priority of Life," Spike tosses out. The words reverberate in Sam's head; a hollow drum with the voice of Dr. Toth tossing questions about, sharp ones banging against the edges.

"Civilians, officers, subjects," Ed ticks them off on thick fingers. He is four drinks in and is a stone. "Can you at least try to give me something that a rookie might not know?"

"You didn't let me finish," Spike interjects. "Under the code what would you rescue first? A large pizza, that satanic cat, or a properly fitting toupee for this mess." His finger moves in a circle above Ed's hairless head.

"Easy." He folds his arms, reclining back in his seat, the front legs tipping off the sticky floor. "The pizza because I am pretty sure something tragic happened to that cat. Ain't that right Constable Wordsworth?"

Wordy laughs and salutes Ed with the tip of his water bottle. "I am not admitting anything but let's just say I doubt we will be seeing him again."

The gang hoots and hollers at this. It's a story Sam never really understood, before his time. Her voice is missing from the ruckus.

Instead, she is trying to sip down number five. Her face scrunching at the taste. Why she always gets beer Sam doesn't know. Her face always pales slightly at the taste, and then she is always nibbling on something immediately after like she would scrub her tongue on a Brillo pad to remove the taste.

She has a bottle of red at her house. He asked her about it once. And she told him she was saving it for something special. It's been there for awhile now. The thought makes him sad.

Ed's voice is unusually loud, rebounding across the room. "As for the toupee? Don't need it. Wanna know why?" He waits a beat, making sure he has everyone's attention. "Because I make this look good... unlike some people."

Sam misses Greg's response, too busy mentally tallying up the number of drinks. This bill is going to kill her. He knows she is already underwater with her mortgage and her home improvement projects seems to take what little she has left over. And he know her. She would rather resort to a steady Ramen diet than to give up her sandpaper and paint rollers.

"Jules, you're up," Ed challenges with a nod to the half empty drink in her hand.

"Guys, maybe we better call it a night." Raf is quickly becoming Sam's favorite person, a lone voice of reason.

Jules is wobbly in her chair as she struggles to empty the glass that Sam wants to smash from her weaving hand. Sitting slightly hunched over the table and favoring her one side the way she used to for so many months after she was shot. Sam tries to think if she had done anything that could aggravate it as if she were in danger of ripping stitches instead of it being a years old wound with only a scar left that stays white even when the rest of her darkens in the summer sun. She claims not to even notice it anymore.

Sam isn't so lucky. His souvenir of that day is a nightmare that still causes him to wake sodden with sweat and calling her name.

Spike, who always wants five more minutes, one more drink, one more game of pool, just one last round of darts, doesn't even protest when Wordy seconds the idea. Just starts to gather his jacket. It's a sign of how far gone she is that all Jules can manage is a feeble glare in response to Ed's triumphant smile.

Sam offers to help Jules settle up and discretely switches the tab from her card to his. She will give him hell about it later but at least it's something he can do now to help her.

All he wants to do is help her. Have her.

Jules is just shy of completely wasted when they pile back into Wordy's minivan. She has passed tipsy and that annoying giggling I-can't-walk-in-my-heels phase that seemed to be the only consistent trait of all the girls Sam used to take home and is sadly silent. Doesn't even say a word when Spike squeezes past her into the passenger seat. Just resignedly sits in the second row. She is slow to move and cracks that are normally plastered over with false bravado are beginning to show. Sam swears he will kill someone if she starts crying in front of the team. She works too hard to keep up that tough as nails exterior, a few drinks and it crumbles like day old bread.

She is leaning forward in her seat, shoulders slumped and Sam can see that she is watching the lights blur and move out her window. Her face so very close to the glass that her breath fogs it. When he was a kid Sam would do that on purpose. Blowing hot and heavy breaths to create his own canvas. Quickly drawing smiley faces in the condensation before they disappeared, leaving smudges of greased finger prints that only The General's sharp eyes could see.

Sam wishes he could draw her a smile. Make it last.

"Jules, you okay back there?" Wordy's reflection in the rear-view mirror catches Sam's gaze.

An alarm bell sounds. The hairs raising on the back of his neck, that tightening in his gut. It's the roof again. Her fingers are playing against the plastic of the door handle, dancing back and forth, back and forth. It's never a grip and the automatic locks are engaged but it makes Sam's stomach lurch. He never asked about her mom but he knows. No details but he knows enough. Five kids at home and severe untreated depression, it didn't mix well. It was a litany of sin her whiskey soaked father confessed at his feet one night when they were both camped out besides in Jules' hospital room.

"_She looks so much like her mother." _Least reassuring words ever. They still make him queasy when they dance around his head on days when she refuses to answer his calls or is unusually quiet, receding to shores he can't reach.

He already knew that. Jules keeps her photo in the drawer of her nightstand. He came across it one night during a frantic hunt for protection. He could see it right away. Same slant of the lips, same jutting chin, same big doe eyes but as far as he is concerned that is where the resemblance ends. He doesn't pretend to understand depression but he thinks suicide is a coward's way out. Jules is anything but a coward. In fact, if pressed, he thinks her mom was selfish and stupid. How anyone could willing leave Jules is beyond him.

"Hey, Jules." His own voice sounds foreign and artificial, a florescent bulb over linoleum floors. "Slide this way. You look like you are going to be sick." He moves a hand around her shoulders and leans her into him. She smells of oranges and beer and sour air. It's not right. His Jules smells of vanilla laden lotion and strawberry shampoo. He would know, somehow everything in his room smells of her. It lulls him to sleep on nights when she is gone.

"I'm fine," she insists but it's dull, no fight left within her. Flame under glass, stifled and smothered, not enough oxygen. The day has been too long, too much. He should have pulled Sarge aside and told him The Goose was a bad idea, he should have stepped in when Ed and Spike started to rag her instead of joining in, stopped her before she even ordered that second drink.

He is suppose to keep her safe, keep her happy. That way he can just keep her.

The speed bumps at the HQ parking lot cause her to shudder against him, the back of her hand pressing tightly to her mouth. He knows that move, seen it once over a bad order of sushi that left her miserable and camped out in her bathroom overnight. He couldn't even get her to leave it. Instead he just brought her a pillow and blanket and stayed with her. Not exactly a shining moment but one of the few where she would allow herself to be taken care of.

That's all he wants. Take care of her. Keep her. Be with her.

He is not exactly asking for the stars; so why does it feel so out of reach?

The car rolls to a graceful stop and he can tell Wordy is doing his best to keep from jostling her too much. The doors open and there is a rush of fresh air. He is just about to help Jules out when Wordy stops him. "It's probably not a good idea for her to drive."

Sam is slipping again. He had no intention of her driving anywhere. He was going to drive her home and tuck her into bed with a bottle of water. He is forgetting to keep up appearances.

"Yeah." His voice is low. He is sick of this- the sneaking, the hiding, The fact that he doesn't even have a goddamn photo of them together.

"I am going to take you home, Jules. Okay?" There is something about the warmth in Wordy's voice and the fact that he is addressing Jules directly that lessens the tensions in Sam's shoulders. She sits, a twisted pretzel of a person in the seat and nods, eyes clenched shut. "Someone will give her a ride to pick up her jeep tomorrow?"

"I will." It's too rushed, Sam knows that. He can't help it. The day is wearing his nerves raw and exposed, a live fray wire left to badly burn whoever comes too close. Someone else from SRU knocking on her door tomorrow would be more than he could handle. Today is more than he can handle.

He makes his way into his car with hands that move of their own volition, cranking the engine but he we doesn't put it into gear until after Wordy's minivan disappears from the gates. He wants to punch something but he settles for an open handed thump against his steering wheel. The horn wincing in pain, a loud blare that he hopes goes unnoticed.

He keeps failing her. Today shouldn't have happened like that.

He was going to take her for breakfast.

He has a lifetime of plans with her he somehow doubts he will ever get to fulfill.

He doesn't go directly to her place. Wordy is a more cautious driver, always obeys the speed limits, always comes to a complete stop. Never broke a rule in his life. And look at him, tremors only kept at bay by medication, a stopgap that will eventually rob him of so much. It is so un_fucking_fair that Sam's chest feels heavy, a phantom Kevlar vest weighing down. Sam breaks rules. He had all but demolished the speed limit on his way to the hospital that fateful day. SIU had robbed him of enough time, he wasn't paying any more of it. He had followed enough rules. As it is Sam can make it from HQ to her place in eight minutes flat. Wordy will be lucky to make it in twenty.

Sam doesn't want to go home. Natalie will be there and her endless noise, questions and chatter and concern. He doesn't want any of it. Not tonight. He is tempted to just circle Jules' block a few times. Wait for Wordy to deposit her safely home and then swoop in but it's not the most discrete plan. She had told him that he was getting sloppy last week. Turns out she was right.

He settles on heading to a nearby 24 hour pharmacy. She doesn't even keep Advil at her place which is insane if you ask him. SRU is a job that comes with a certain amount of soreness, muscles that cramp from potions held too long, ankles that ache after a roll on a double drop. He takes four at a time most nights. She just powers through without it, like he can't see that subtle wince as she lowers herself to her sofa or like he doesn't notice how much slower her trek up the stairs is after a hot call.

It's nuts. It's just them. It's not the team. Just them. Sam and Jules. Jules and Sam. But she still won't.

At first he thought it was him, didn't want to admit she was in pain in front of him. Now he thinks it goes deeper. She pulled the same shit at the hospital. Refused meds the first chance she could. He knows there is a story there but he can't ask. He won't because it will only end in another fight. The ones where she tells him to leave and for a split second he thinks she really means it.

And it's not like she will tell him. He can count the number of stories she has told him on three fingers- her dad being a cop, Jason teaching her to shoot, and the time she got busted shoplifting. That's what he knows about her past. That's all. Three stories he can condense down to a sentence.

He makes up for it in other ways. He knows her favorite flower, how she takes her eggs, that she always brushes her teeth before she gets into the shower. He knows that at least one of her brothers will call her almost everyday and she will normally pick up, for her dad she mostly lets it go to voicemail. She says her favorite song is Everybody Hurts by R.E.M but it's actually In My Life by the Beatles. She hums it to herself when she thinks he isn't listening. Puzzle pieces carefully extracted, slowly unraveling the mystery that is Jules.

He goes in a fills a small basket with some essentials- a bottle of Advil, some lemon lime Gatorade, a box of saltine crackers. He still has time to kill so he roams the other aisles, noticing a bottle of hand soap she was low on this morning and adds it to the others. He peruses the cards, eyes catching on the section labeled 'Congratulations' but he doesn't actually pick one up. She wouldn't appreciate it and they can't have any evidence lying around. Somehow he thought with Sarge knowing it would change things, all it does is make it so he is not just potentially ruining Jules' career but Greg's as well. It's not like he can hang her photo in his locker or walk her to her Jeep at the end of the day. All he can offer her is some hangover remedies and some soap she is low on.

It's not fair.

It's not enough.

He pays a sleepy looking cashier and trudges outside, purchases sheathed in a plastic bag reminding him to recycle.

Her home is a one eyed jack-o-lantern. Light emanating from every window on the ground floor, a full toothed grin, and one light streaming from behind the blinds of her upstairs bedroom window, the other window a black patch of a hole. He expected maybe a single light from the living room and her softly snoring on her sofa, Wordy having safely deposited her inside. Instead he can see her home, a single beacon of light amidst slumbering brick giants, from four blocks away.

He pulls into a driveway two houses past hers. It belongs to Mrs. Haverdean, who is a firm believer in star-crossed love and having her walk shoveled every time it snows. Sam was able to iron out a bargain without even needing to use that smile that used to keep everyone wrapped around his little finger.

Sam knocks twice on Jules' ornate door and counts to fifty before producing a key and counts again before turning it in the lock. They have had _that_ fight before and he is not about to rehash it. He had naturally assumed a key meant that he no longer had to knock, boy had he miss calculated.

"Jules." He allows his head access first, peering around the door, wary of phantom cookware being tossed at him. Finding the coast clear, he enters, locking the door behind him. "Jules, it's me. Just came to..." _Take care of you, make sure you are okay, help you_ but he knows better than to say it. There are things that he has learned are best left alone. Her independence to a fault is one of them. Her stubbornness is a close second. They both come to the forefront when she is feeling weak.

He remembers to take off his shoes and tries not to notice how nicely his boots look next to her running shoes. He can picture a lifetime of shoes like that, side by side for the next fifty years. His scuffed and worn because he doesn't care and hers neat because she can't stand to have them any other way.

The third stair protests under his weight, with a groan. The morning seems like a lifetime ago, him sitting there, thinking his world was about to disappear. It didn't. That's all that matters.

He hears her before he sees her. The sound of her retching in her bathroom echoing in the hall. He doesn't say a word as she hunches over the toilet, her hair in a messy knot at the top of her head. Instead he wets a small cloth and drapes it over the back of her neck. The 'I told you so's can wait until the morning.

He will tease her and she will rage and he will wait until she apologizes and somehow in the end she will get him to admit it was all his fault. It's their dance and he knows the steps, loves them even. The way she gets so angry that her face will flush and her breath quicken, her responses beyond her sniper locked control. It's nice to know he gets under her skin. She drives him to insanity; payback should be in equal measure.

Sam doesn't try to rub her back. Instead he just sits there, hands resting on the glaring white tile. Neither of them were raised in that type of home. They didn't grow up with kisses on banged knees and warm arms to burrow into after nightmares. Where he has learned to crave that closeness, she hasn't yet admitted to wanting such things. At least not under the bright lights bouncing off her very white subway tile of her bathroom. Still, on nights where the wind causes her tree to scratch against the panes of her window, he wakes to find her wrapped around him.

He tells himself, it's something.

Tells himself, it's everything.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes over and over. It's not the first time he has heard her apologize but it's still jarring. Admitting fault is not something that comes easily to her. He doesn't ask what she is sorry for; he is not even sure she knows at this point and if she does he is not sure he wants to know the reason.

Honestly, he just wants to hold her. Pretend this day never happened.

Instead he just sits there, resisting the urge to place a reassuring hand on her hunched back. He is pretty sure at some point her whole stomach is inside out. She is still struggling fifteen minutes later against dry heaves that cause her body to strain and furl in a way he hasn't seen since the hospital. Pain wracked nightmares that she would struggle against. He feels almost as helpless now as he did then.

"It's okay," he murmurs after each apology pours from her lips.

It's not okay. None of this is okay. This was suppose to be a good day. They were suppose to have breakfast together, maybe work on her banister a little- she has plans to sand and re-stain it. It was going to be a good day. It was not supposed to end with her curled up in the bathroom.

Eventually, when he think she has thrown up everything she has eaten for the past month, he passes her a toothbrush and helps her to stand on wobbly legs. He holds on to her the entire time she is at the sink. It's familiar in a way he had forgotten. Reminiscent of hospital visits with her struggling to not need his offered support before finally surrendering to the inevitable. He doesn't give her a chance to protest this time. Makes up his mind that he is not going to deal with it tonight and for once she doesn't battle him. Just leans ever so lightly into him, her left hand bracing herself against the counter.

"Thank you," she offers when he helps her to her room. Her bed is still a mess of sheets and pillows, never having got made after Sarge's impromptu visit. It's something that would normally upset her. She hates when he forgets to at least straighten the comforter but she doesn't say a word. Just sits on the edge as he hunts her down some sleepwear.

She is studying her hands when Sam comes back with a shirt that used to be his a few dozen sleeps ago. Now it's firmly hers and he is pretty sure that is the only possession she wouldn't return if they ever broke up. It's soft and thread bare from the number of washes and he loves her in it. He hold it out to her with a lopsided smile, a memory from a few nights ago dancing in his brain, but she doesn't take it.

"What are we going to do?" Her voice is a whisper of desperation.

Anything, anything she wants as long as she never sounds like that again. It makes his chest ache.

"Go to sleep, unless you have other plans." He seals the act with a smirk. He is not ready for this talk, not now. Not ever. "Come on, Jules." He waves the shirt in front of her. "It's late."

Jules' hand pushes the shirt away, instead her fingers close around his, pulling at him, forcing him to sit beside her. "I can't do this."

"What are you talking about?" His heart is hammering out a reel in his chest. Blood rushing to his ears, his life hanging on her words.

"The award, Sarge, everything."

He has lost the string. Part of him screams at him to just get her to sleep but the part of him that could never deal with not knowing forces the words from his throat. "What can't you do, Jules?"

"I can't lose you." Sam hears it, a clear bell of hope chiming in his heart before she dissolves into tears and apologies for some unknown sin. The rest of her words run together, a weave that makes no sense so he focuses instead on her hands, claiming them with his own.

She can't lose him. Something warm rises within him.

"Hey, hey, hey." He forces her to look at him. "We are okay. We are okay," he repeats as much for himself as for her. "Sarge knows and he trusts us."

She is shaking her head 'no'. "No, no. It's just a matter of time-"

"No," he cuts off that thought. That path is dangerous, he is not letting her go there. "Listen. We just keep doing our jobs. It's like you told Sarge. We just keep to the code. We keep it professional at work. It's gonna be okay, Jules. It is."

Sam knows he is selling it too hard, much too hard but he doesn't care. He just wants to curl up next to her tonight and for the rest of his life. To hell with the rest.

She sniffles slightly, it makes her seem suddenly so much younger. "Promise?" Her need for reassurance is unexpected and endearing and dangerous.

He tells himself it is never going to actually come to that. There will not be a moment where her life is in his hands and he will have to choose another. Fate isn't that cruel. They have already been through their trial by fire. He tells himself it will all be okay because he knows. He knows if he says anything else this is over.

There is only one answer.

"I promise."

**To Be Continued...  
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><p><em>AN: So massive apologies for the delay in this chapter. Basically I am a terrible, terrible person. I have been out of the fandom loop for awhile and have so many people to PM with more groveling and apologies. Plus I have a book sized list of fics to catch up on. Yes, I suck. I promise not to do it again. Forgive me? Pretty please?_

_Hopefully the added length makes up for the time spent waiting because this chapter dwarfs all other chapters of Over by at least a thousand words. For those wondering, I am planning on finishing this. Slowly catching up with everything up to Slow Burn. Some moments will be like this, something that my brain has cooked up that clearly happened off screen but still fits within canon. Some moments will be a more detailed look at something actually shown onscreen. _

_During my hiatus this story was added to many more alert lists and for that I am truly grateful. It really inspired me to get back in the saddle so to speak. _

_Also as a side note to those who also hold a special place for Power Rangers. I will be finishing Pieces of Then but more importantly I am working on constructing a PR\FP crossover fic that allows both universes to exist as is. It's complicated and is really challenging but hopefully many of you will give it a try. It plays with many themes and I am very, very excited about it._

_As always **Reviews are Love, Readers are Powerful.**_

_~Del_


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